Through the Looking Glass
by Kristen999
Summary: Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively” - Voltaire. There is something odd going on with John and Rodney. Maybe everyone. Or it could be the darkness closing in.
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Through the Looking Glass"  
Author:Kristen999  
Word Count: 19,000-  
Rating: T  
Genre: Gen, Angst, H/C  
Spoilers: Through Season 5's "Remnants"  
Warnings: Violence and some darkish tones.  
Characters: John, Rodney, Teyla, Ronon

Summary: _"Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively" - Voltaire._ There is something odd going on with John and Rodney. Maybe everyone. Or it could be the darkness closing in.

Notes: I want to thank my wonderful betas wildcat88 and everybetty for their amazing support and skills. I wouldn't have made it without you guys!

Written for vecturist for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa. Prompt at the end.

* * *

Rodney checked his watch, stood up, paced back and forth, stared at the time again and sat back down to scroll through his email. He heard footsteps and snapped his head up, only to scowl at one of his minions for tricking him into thinking his teammates could be on time. The lowly man rightly scampered away.

He fingered his radio just as the wonder twins graced him with their presence. "About time," he muttered.

Ronon crossed his arms over that hulking chest. Teyla said nothing, merely arching an eyebrow. "Sorry, we were detained."

Rodney scanned the entrance to his lab for the umpteenth time, making sure no one could eavesdrop. "Do you know how busy I am? Take your day to a factor of ten."

"What's so important?" Ronon asked, still standing like a cigar-store Indian. "And why are we hiding?"

"Because it's about Sheppard and we've been working on the modifications to the chair room, stepping on each other's toes for the last three days," Rodney explained, peering around the lab. "I made Lorne find some excuse to call him away, but he'll be back any minute."

"Is there something wrong?" Teyla asked, suddenly more alert.

"No, no," Rodney waved his hands. "It's his birthday next week."

"So?"

Rodney tried not to roll his eyes at the Satedan. "Yeah, well. I thought this time we'd all... you know... do something."

"Sheppard doesn't care about that stuff," Ronon said flatly.

"Of course he does," Rodney scoffed. "A party gives him a chance to flirt with the females of the expedition and drink without using his beer rations."

"I think what Ronon is saying is that Colonel Sheppard might not appreciate being the focus of attention," Teyla explained, using that annoying logical tone.

"Look, we all know how much he hates being in the spotlight. Every year we tiptoe around his birthday like it's a curse or he schedules a mission and we all forget about it." Rodney wasn't sure why this was bugging him. He looked at the two perplexed expressions in front of him. "There've been dinners and parties for the rest of us."

Maybe it had something to do with the most recent alien mind manipulation. Or that John hadn't been acting quite right ever since. What was wrong with a celebration? Drinking to Michael's death hadn't exactly been a time for rejoicing over fond memories.

Or maybe Rodney was just tired of living until the next disaster and it dawned on him that the moments in between imminent death should mean more.

Teyla might have read his expression, silently communicating it to Ronon. "What are you suggesting?"

Rodney wasn't sure; he'd never actually gotten past step one of getting them together to discuss the idea. It wasn't like he'd ever cared before. When had there been time for social niceties?

"Perhaps a card that everyone could sign. This way we could avoid a party that might make John feel uncomfortable," Teyla suggested. "Ronon and I could take it to his men and you could cover the science teams."

"We could take him _boflo_ hunting. Makes you feel alive," Ronon suggested, smiling at Teyla's eye roll.

"I don't think almost getting us all killed is a good way to celebrate things," Rodney grumbled.

Ronon shrugged. "Adrenaline rushes make you appreciate life."

"We almost die everyday. I'd like to avoid that." Rodney was thinking something on a larger scale. "What about--"

His question was interrupted by the subject of their discussion. The three of them went silent, badly covering up their conspiracy session.

"What's going on?" John asked, eying them suspiciously. "Did I forget a meeting?"

"I was looking for Teyla," Ronon lied.

"And I needed Rodney's opinion on some climate issues that might be causing one of our trading partners problems," Teyla added swiftly.

The list of lame excuses proved that they were terrible liars. Rodney reached for his laptop. "And I was just sitting here."

"Riiiight," John drawled, definitely not buying it.

The silence and fumbling for excuses to switch subjects came in the form of a newbie lab assistant.

"Dr. McKay, I've been looking for you."

"Really?" Rodney faced his underling, secretly happy for the distraction. Dr. Hopkins stood there nervously, a plain white box shaking in his young, inexperienced hands. "Are you waiting for an invitation?"

"Um, no, except... well... I..." The young man stumbled over his words. "I didn't know where you wanted me to store these and... I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Hopkins stared wide-eyed at Ronon who just glared back at him. The geek gulped, glanced at John and stepped back a little with trepidation.

Rodney guessed being confronted with the lead off-world team and the insane military commander of the city was a bit intimidating. "What are you trying to dump on me?"

"Oh. These are some of the unidentified objects that we've been inventorying from Jana's lab."

"Wait, wait, wait. You brought Ancient tech here in a cardboard box?" Rodney asked, appalled. "Do you have any idea what you could be carrying? You _know_ we have rules and regulations for Ancient tech, especially unknown tech that could transport one of us into space or turn us all into flying monkeys!"

"I'm sorry," Hopkins stuttered, backing away, almost right into John.

"And don't get newly discovered crap anywhere near _him_. If that man even breathes on it, he might cause an explosion," Rodney ranted.

The scientist backed away suddenly, as if touching Sheppard might end in catastrophe. Instead the newbie got all tripped up by his two left feet and was suddenly flailing to keep from crashing to the floor.

Ronon grabbed the kid by the arm; in the process the box got jostled and some of its contents shook free. Teyla caught two of the palm-sized objects easily. "Here, I have them."

"Careful!" Rodney reached for the devices, then recoiled, realizing what a bad idea it could be.

Teyla quickly placed them back in the box without a single disaster. Rodney released a breath, shoulders sagging. That was close. He whirled around to face his newest assistant. What was he, twelve? "I want you to take those to Lab Four on Level Five-B. Hand them to Dr. Polanski then locate the manual that _I_ wrote on the proper procedures for handling alien technology and read it no fewer than five times. Only after you can recite the rules to me backwards and forwards, are you allowed to do anything other than clean and disinfect equipment."

"Yes, sir. Sorry."

"And I want the name of the idiot who sent you here to blow up my lab," Rodney demanded.

"Dr. Kimball," the underling replied.

"Right. Figures. Now shoo!" Rodney waved him away. "And don't you dare drop anything."

"Way to build on those interpersonal relationships," John snarked.

His tone was sarcastic, but Rodney knew John well enough to see through his façade. The man was peeved about being out of the loop on something. It was all in the brooding eyes and cranky posture.

"Oh, sure. Make cracks about possibly saving your life. Do you remember the last time you touched something you shouldn't have?" John visibly deflated and Rodney seized on it. "Good. Because I wasn't a fan of Nightmare on Sheppard Street."

"That was a year ago and I was only stopping by to see if you're done with the latest calculations." John scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair. "But I'm guessing you are if you have time to hang out."

"No, I'm not done. You know how sensitive these calibrations are. It takes time and there's no rushing computations that take hours to crunch for every chunk of data. So, I'm sorry, but this is a top priority that you can't get out of, no matter how tired you get of sitting around," Rodney snapped, putting a bit more zing in his voice. Riling up John was a good way to distract him.

It worked because the colonel stopped glancing at Ronon and Teyla, his focus a laser line on him. "It's been four days, McKay. I was just seeing if we were getting close."

"The pace of science does not adhere to a time table," Rodney replied, pulling up the latest results.

"I have to go to Earth next week, so maybe science could hurry up a bit, or it's going to be forced to wait," John said irritably. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just call me if you need anything else," was his slightly peevish follow up. Before anyone could react, his radio went off and John was out the door to follow up on a military thing.

"I am not sure picking a fight with the colonel was a good thing," Teyla admonished.

"It wasn't like I wanted to… it's what we do. Besides, it was better than proving that we're all lousy actors." Rodney turned back to his computer screen. "It'll make things more of a surprise, now won't it?"

"Why's he going back to Earth?" Ronon asked.

Why _was_ John going back home? And why were they just learning about it now? If they hadn't had a squabble would they have ever known until John was walking towards the gate? This wasn't going to ruin his great surprise... whatever it might be. "I'll do some digging," Rodney said, swiveling in his chair.

With his back to them, Ronon and Teyla got the '_you're dismissed'_ signal. Now all he had to do was find a way to work on the control chair improvements, plan a birthday surprise with no real clue what it would be, and find out about a certain annoying pilot's little field trip.

After five years of certain doom on a regular basis, couldn't one of his closest friends ever confide in the smallest thing? It wasn't like Rodney wanted to be John Sheppard's confessor. But things like an ex-wife, a brother, and an estranged father shouldn't be news. Returning to Earth was a big deal—why hadn't it come up in conversation?

Rodney dug through the following week's missions and communications with the SGC. In the middle of all the military, science, and bureaucratic day-to-day stuff was John's scheduled trip. Using the gate to go to Earth instead of the Daedalus was a waste of resources so it must be a really huge deal.

Which only made him more frustrated. John trusted Rodney with his life; anything else, and it was ten inch thick walls and silence.

* * *

John preferred it when the Marine captains took care of their own unit assignments. He didn't flaunt his command, delegating responsibilities and allowing team leaders to control their personnel. They all had too much crap to do to waste time on rhetoric, but there were times when his oak leaves needed to make an appearance.

He waited quietly, stretching out the heavy silence for as long as possible. The corporal before him sweated bullets, standing so far at attention it was a wonder his spine was still intact.

Lieutenant Abrams gave him a quick, "Sir," then stepped away. John wasn't cut from the same cloth as his former COs and didn't believe in having an audience for disciplinary matters. This wasn't a power trip. He stood toe-to-toe with the corporal, close enough to guess the antiperspirant he was wearing. "What is the number one rule for off-world missions, Corporal Higgins?"

"Never lose sight of the civilians, sir."

"That's right. Anything too challenging about that?"

"No, sir."

"Yet, this is the third time you've allowed the scientist attached to you to wander off."

"Yes, sir."

"You have one job. Protect those under you. That means becoming their shadow. Knowing every step and matching it. Memorizing their habits and anticipating the unpredictable."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't care how annoying or obnoxious they are. If they drive you bat-shit insane. Don't ever lose your geek. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

Higgins's mouth said one thing, his body language another. John didn't budge, didn't blink. "Do you sleep well at night, Corporal?"

Higgins licked his bottom lip nervously. "Um...yes, sir."

"I guarantee you won't after the day one of them comes back in a body bag." John worked his jaw. "Dismissed."

The corporal's footfalls drifted away, leaving only the hum of Atlantis in the background. John rested his head against the wall behind him, wishing the transporters could beam weary colonels to their beds. Hours in the control chair made him feel like a faulty livewire. Multiply that by four days, and he just wasn't up for social interaction. Not when his veins felt like they were super-charged and his mind was still connected on some level to the city.

He rounded the corner near the gym, noticing a few Marines hanging around the entrance. Their quiet murmurings turned to silence as he passed, making him wonder what conversations they didn't want him to overhear.

Seemed that was the trend for today.

John didn't realize his heart was at a full gallop until it began settling down and he slowed its pace from a mad sprint. He massaged his left temple, feeling a band of tension begin to form. Dressing down one of his men was at the bottom of his favorite things to do list, but it was a necessary evil.

People died if he didn't. Of course, many lost their lives as a result of his decisions. The IOA probably wanted a breakdown of how he weighed threat assessments and acceptable risks then a full analysis of those choices. Like such things crossed his mind in the 'two seconds between life and death' situations. War couldn't be dissected into the columns and rows of a spreadsheet to find better methods for the future. He was sure they had a chart, complete with lives lost for all his failures.

"Way to think positive, John," he muttered under his breath. Then he looked up to see if anyone realized he was talking to himself.

There were a couple of scientists nearby, but they were too absorbed in their conversation to have noticed. Their voices buzzed in the distance and John saw the one with red curly hair glance up at him out of the corner of his eye. Curly quickly averted his gaze and John found himself quickening his steps again.

"_Colonel Sheppard?"_

"Sheppard here."

"_Colonel, I need the report of your mission to P2M-173 from yesterday,"_ Woolsey requested.

John did a mental double-take. "I turned that in already."

"_I don't have a hard or digital copy. Are you sure you turned them in?"_

"I emailed it to you after dinner and dropped off the paper version this morning," John replied, wondering how both could have gone missing.

"_Colonel, it would be very difficult for both of them to get lost. I am aware of the altercation that occurred, detailed as it was in Dr. McKay's oh, so candid ten pages. Ronon's was its usual abridged version. Since Teyla was visiting her people, I need yours to balance them out."_

John grimaced. That damn thing had taken an hour to type, trying to explain how cultural misunderstandings on top of misinterpretation of hand gestures had kept them from investigating what could have been a source of naquadah.

"I'll make sure you get a copy before 1800 hours," John promised.

"_You know, I had to send my daily databurst without your account. I don't need to remind you how that might look so close to your yearly review."_

Gee, thanks for the not-so-helpful tip, John thought. "I'm sure that won't be the biggest issue I'll have to face." If all he had to worry about were tardy reports...

"_If you could send me the draft from your inbox, the time stamp would help clear that right up,_" Woolsey suggested.

"Good idea, sir. Sheppard out." Of course, that didn't explain how the paper file had disappeared. This time he didn't voice his thoughts out loud, searching the hallways for an audience. What the heck? Where was he? It took a moment to recognize that he'd taken a wrong turn. Apparently walking and talking at the same time was a skill to work on.

_John_

"Yeah," he replied, spinning around to an empty hallway.

He went to the middle of the intersection, searching in all directions, but no one was around. Great. He needed sleep, but that had been an enigma for the last couple weeks. Looking down, he discovered his left hand was balled into a fist, and he slowly uncurled his fingers to shake them loose.

* * *

His computer's inbox was filled with request forms, this month's evaluations, twenty status reports from McKay, the usual mix of random jokes, photos, and the rare personal note. John scrolled through the newest update to the movie selection for the common room, ignoring Rodney's demand for his input on the morning's test runs.

The draft section of his mail program saved him from the tedious job of retyping his report, thank goodness. He forwarded the document, bolding the time stamp, and sent a copy to himself. That should have been it, but John's fingers drifted to the 'compose' button. He was returning to Earth; certainly he owed his brother another visit. That was if Dave wanted one. Dropping by unannounced could spare John the hurt of any 'schedule conflicts' that an advanced notice might create.

John stared at the four walls that had surrounded him for the last five years, eyes drifting towards the window. The walls on Earth were made of plaster and wood, dead and unfeeling. He wasn't sure if he could ever accept non-alien exteriors again. Or sleep in a bed on a world that didn't feel like home. He stared at the door, half expecting it to chime and when it didn't, John glared at the blank email.

_What are you running away from? _The cursor read.

John slammed his laptop closed, breathing hard. He stared at the door to his quarters again, waiting for the knock that never came. It was tough not to think about next week. Colonel Carter would be there. General O'Neill and even Hammond were on board. Nothing to worry about.

John stood up, not sure what he wanted to do. He crossed his quarters in five quick steps and palmed open the door.

Nothing.

He looked down both quiet corridors. John walked further around, verifying that he was the only occupant in the hall. He returned to his room, the doors opening and waiting for him to enter. His quarters were dimly lit; the desk lamp the only source of light. It felt like he was on the outside and peering into a stranger's space.

John backed away slowly, eyes crisscrossing all points of exit. There was no one around, but he wasn't about to go take a nap. Not in _there_.

With nowhere in mind, he wandered around the city, allowing the low-level thrum to guide him.

* * *

Ronon entered the mess hall with vigor, being exceptional hungry after taking the long route for his run. He'd awakened before dawn and had covered the eastern piers before going towards living quarters. John hadn't waited for him and knew that was the colonel's signal for skipping out. That made it six days in a row and while it didn't bother him, John hadn't been joining him for morning exercise for a while. There was no point in pushing for a reason; one might come forward in the next sparring session. Ronon wasn't going to let him duck out of their Friday sessions and he'd prove to John that missing out on runs would only make him soft.

His stomach growled loudly and the smell of food narrowed his focus on the line for the trays. He headed towards the large stacks and piles of utensils when he spotted McKay and Keller a few feet ahead. Ronon was over Jennifer picking McKay. It'd taken a long time before he'd allowed himself to be interested in another woman, enough time not to feel guilty. The interest and affection for her would fade, and he was fine that McKay had found someone...but it didn't mean he wanted to watch them be together.

Time would take care of any resentment and uncomfortable feelings. Not that anyone else would pick up on them. Ronon kept them inside, his rough exterior always in place. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore and McKay was being louder than normal while Jennifer tried to get him to lower his voice.

Ronon turned around and headed towards the exit when he spotted John standing in the far corner of the room. When had he come in? Ronon walked over, noticing the way the colonel studied the mess hall, taking in positions and angles. Ronon was instantly alert, scanning for anything suspicious. He took a spot next to John casually, not wanting to bring attention to what they were doing.

"Trouble?" Ronon asked under his breath.

"Why? You see some?" John whispered.

That was a confusing answer. "No, I saw you going over the room." Ronon never took his eyes off the exits or any possible strange behavior.

"Nothing wrong with playing things safe," John responded.

"Okay." Ronon eased up, wondering if any of the food in his quarters was worth investigating. But John was still in observation mode, hand resting above his sidearm, the relaxed manner betrayed by the tension in his shoulders. "How long have you been up?"

"Up?" John finally looked at him. He needed a shave and his wrinkled uniform was the same one he had on yesterday.

"You weren't around for our run," Ronon said, reassessing his friend. The colonel had never gone to bed.

"Already went for a run. Visited the south pier," John explained, but his eyes were busy evaluating people.

It took hours to reach the southern pier. Sometimes John acted funny after using the control chair and he knew the colonel had been running tests on it for days. Then he remembered the trip to Earth and things became clear. Judging a war on paper from a galaxy away was stupid. John knew that; he didn't need to hear it from Ronon.

"So, where were you going?" John asked.

This time Ronon had the colonel's full attention and while the question was casual, the glare wasn't. "I was just leaving."

John smiled. "But you didn't eat."

"Decided I wasn't hungry," Ronon said gruffly. He crossed his arms, closing the matter.

A group of marines entered and he recognized Hardin's team. They must have gotten back from their overnight op; they smelled of the showers and the infirmary from post-mission check ups.

"They weren't due back until 2200 hours," John said, eying them.

"Maybe the mission didn't take as long," Ronon said, shrugging.

"Yeah, that could be it, too."

Ronon didn't understand the implication, watching John's eyes narrow slightly like they did on missions. Rodney waved at them wildly from a table, plopping his plate down. "Come over here!" he shouted across the room.

Jennifer grabbed his flailing hand, urging him to sit down. All eyes were on them, all the normal conversations grinding to a halt. Rodney was beginning to stand back up so Ronon went over, John on his heels. McKay seemed oblivious, pointing at two empty chairs.

"Where are your trays?" Rodney demanded. "What's the point of hanging out if you're not going to eat?" He turned to Jennifer, her cheeks a shade rosier. "Don't you think eating breakfast is the most important meal of the day?" She didn't get a chance to answer. "Don't get me wrong; lunch and dinner are great. In fact, they have tastier items and allow for dessert in most cases. But without breakfast, there's no energy to do what's needed all day. And who are we kidding? My day is never normal."

Ronon was going to tell him to shut up when Rodney began snapping his fingers, and if possible, started talking more. "Sheppard, did you go over all the data I sent over? I know the changes to the power redistribution are only point four seconds, but the results could be compounded over time. Also, I found the rate of transverse from the chair to the conduits can be tweaked enough to affect the way systems respond to the chair's directions. I waited until this morning for your reply, because I can't input more calculations until you fill out the missing data. I know the chair doesn't talk to you per se, but we both know the responses feel differently." Rodney took a breath, fork forever posed near that non-stop moving mouth. "Hello, Sheppard?"

John had been staring at him the entire time. "What?"

"What? What do you mean what? Have you been paying attention at all? About the emails I sent you."

"There's something wrong with my email," John said.

"Something wrong? Like what? It's email not Linux," Rodney said, shaking his head, finally chewing his food and giving them all a moment to breath.

"Don't know; maybe I'll--"

McKay was interrupting John again. "Just give me your laptop and I'll take a look at it."

"Why?" the colonel asked.

"Why? What's with the twenty questions? To fix your email, so you can answer them all," Rodney snorted then did the weirdest thing. He reached over the table and patted John on the shoulder. "Come on, lighten up."

Jennifer stared at Rodney. John merely sat there with his brow furrowed.

Teyla had mentioned to Ronon something called a mid-life crisis after the whole birthday discussion the other day. He suspected McKay's behavior had more to do with guilt that two members of the team had someone to be with now and Rodney wanted to try to make the rest of them happy.

"You know, being all uptight about your review won't help things," Rodney blurted.

Ronon grimaced. Lorne had told him about the colonel's reason for going to Earth, but that didn't mean he was going to say anything out loud.

"Rodney!" Jennifer hissed.

"What?" Rodney asked, bewildered. "We stopped the Replicators, the Wraith are seeking us for help nowadays. And the galaxy feels safe enough to have power struggles, for crying out loud."

John stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "My trip is none of your business, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped breaking into my files," he growled.

Rodney sat there while John breathed rapidly. Ronon sat up straighter, glowering at the rest of those in the room until the heavy silence was filled with chatter again. Teyla appeared at the table slightly weary, setting down her tray. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," John mumbled. "Sorry...I just...you know, didn't catch much sleep," he apologized.

"No, yeah. You look tired, maybe a nap would help," Rodney said, getting up, not one word of reprimand on his lips.

"Maybe you're right," John said, waving McKay away. "Think I'll go do that."

Teyla sat down while John walked away. "Is there anything wrong?"

"No," Rodney replied. "This just means that we need to work harder about next week."

"Next week?" Ronon asked. "You mean the whole birthday thing?"

"Yes, in fact I know exactly what to do to make things perfect," Rodney said excitedly.

Before Ronon knew it, Rodney was out of his seat, food forgotten on the table. "I need to get back to the lab; everything I need is there."

"What about breakfast?" Jennifer asked bewilderedly.

"Oh, that can wait. This can't."

Ronon watched the blur of his teammate dodge around tables and chairs as if his life depended on it. The rest of his meal lay untouched so he snagged the stack of pancakes. "That was weird," he said, before shoveling them into his mouth.

"You talking about Rodney or Colonel Sheppard?" Jennifer asked.

Ronon wasn't sure.

* * *

The rest of John's day became one giant blur; time turned fuzzy, and he couldn't recall when night occurred. Sleep never came, and he watched the clock change by the hour in glowing red letters. He stayed in his quarters despite how every fiber in his being told him things were wrong. The bed didn't feel right and he moved it three times, rearranging his desk and chairs with every new spot. At first he thought it was too soft then too firm. He ripped away the sheets and flipped over the mattress to examine it. The label was torn where he'd removed it during his first week in the city.

He noticed a layer of dust had been disturbed underneath the bed. Of course he'd been dragging things all over the place and lord knew he never really cleaned his quarters aside from keeping his clothes neatly in his closet. But there was a patch on the floor that bothered him.

By the time things were put back in their original places, it was morning. There were no missions scheduled today, only a meeting with Lorne. John showered and changed, trying to recall what was on their agenda. The very idea of leaving his room had him breaking out in a cold sweat, yet last night all he'd wanted to do was bolt.

He stood in front of the doors, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, popping his knuckles several times. What was the point of the meeting? It wasn't like Lorne couldn't handle evaluating this month's supplies. Why have a master sergeant assigned to that detail if they had to nit-pick his reports?

John took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand, releasing all of the air in his chest in the hopes of getting rid of the jitters. The doors were still closed and he wanted to remain where he was.

"_Colonel Sheppard, could you please report to the control room?" _Woolsey's voice came over his com.

Should he answer or just show up? Woolsey requested a response, forcing the decision. He raised his left hand, realized his radio was in his right ear, awkwardly tapping it anyway. "I'm on my way."

John bit his lip, barged through the doors and into the hallway. His feet felt odd and clumsy and he looked down, discovering his boots were still unlaced.

* * *

He walked out of the transporter and onto the wrong level. Atlantis was Manhattan-large and it was easy to get turned around in the vast underbelly of unused sectors. Okay, John thought, he must have hit the wrong button. After dashing back into the transporter, it took a few seconds to process which screen to press.

John rubbed at his eyes. The blue-lit map made sense and he tapped the correct destination to the control tower. The doors whooshed open and all eyeballs snapped in his direction. Blues, browns, greens. They were all glued to him, burning his skin with their collective heat. Chuck, Amelia, heck, even Frank stopped mopping the floor to gaze over.

He checked behind him to make sure no one was standing there then inspected his uniform to see if he was wearing the correct shirt. When John looked up, everyone was back to business as usual. A few technicians even nodded or smiled at him when he got closer.

"Sir," a young man greeted.

John didn't reply, unable to put a name with a face. There was something about how people peered at him out of the corners of their eyes, or made nervous smiles. It reminded John of his first arrival at the SGC. The way the men gossiped behind his back, or how Sumner's inner circle scrutinized his every move. It had been easier to sleep on the last bunk in the most isolated barracks on base despite his rank. Those nights had been more lonely than any twelve hour hops between bases in his chopper.

He reached Woolsey's office, where the rest of his team waited, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John shook his head. "I'm sorry, I missed what you said."

Richard Woolsey sat back in his chair appraising him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Ronon and Teyla looked at him in concern; Rodney was too busy pacing to give him any attention. John was taken aback; he'd been expecting a lecture about being late. "I'm fine," he replied. "Just tired."

Woolsey pursed his lips but didn't broach the subject again. "I called you outside our normal scheduled meeting because a member of the Pegasus coalition contacted us about setting up a monthly conference to continue relations with other powers in the galaxy."

"You mean the people who imprisoned us?" Ronon interrupted.

"Yes, and may I remind all of you of the importance of maintaining relations with the surrounding governments?" Woolsey warned. "But we're going to have to table that for another time. As Dr. McKay has undoubtedly been waiting to explain, we've encountered a major problem with the city's stardrive."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Finally to the point at hand." Rodney froze mid-step in his frantic prowl of the room. "It seems that the drive is on some automated start-up sequence, diverting power to the engines so the city can fly away."

"How is that possible?" Teyla asked, looking from Rodney to Woolsey.

"I'm glad you asked. Now, I don't have the four years needed to explain the physics and engineering behind the feat, but I'll try to give you the abridged version."

John sat there while McKay grabbed his tablet and started up a powerpoint presentation. The room was silent apart from Rodney's rapid-fire explanation. Instead of insulting and belittling his teammates, Rodney beamed from ear to ear on the finer points of aeronautics and energy to mass ratios.

"---and if a force is applied to an object in the direction of motion, the object gains momentum---"

Rodney's voice rose in pitch, his tone never condescending, hands waving in excitement.

"---the rest mass of a system is always the sum of the relativistic masses of its parts, in the frame where the system as a whole is at rest---"

John shook his head; Rodney's lips moved, but the words were out of sync.

"---this equation gives the rest mass of an object which has an arbitrary amount of momentum and energy---"

John sat there, the equations white streaks on the chalkboard and they just fit. Mapping out how lift and yaw would affect takeoff. The rest of the students seemed confounded by the numbers, but it was just plain logic. The professor was animated and loud, clearly drawing enthusiasm from the topic.

"Can we get back to the problem at hand? I know we all appreciate the time and effort--"

His CO wasn't interested in the reason for the maneuver over North Korean territory; he was plissed that John almost lost a two million dollar airplane.

"You don't understand. I'm just trying to--"

The mission report wasn't going to be enough; it didn't matter that the enemy forced him over Chinese airspace.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

"Colonel Sheppard, what is your opinion?"

John gave himself a mental shake. Rodney was sitting down, his foot tapping frantically on the floor. Woolsey was waiting for his answer and for the life of him, he had no idea what the question was.

"I think your idea is insane, even for you," Zelenka snapped.

When did Radek join the party? Zelenka pointed at his tablet, ranting about the absurdity of Rodney's plan. John tried not to act completely lost. He glanced at his watch, noticing that close to an hour had passed.

"I have to agree with Dr. Zelenka. I may not be an expert on this type of technology, but even I think that allowing the power to build up and actually fly and relocate the city is..." Woolsey cleared his throat. "Well, it is not the best solution to our problem. We should find out what's causing the drive to activate to begin with."

"Allowing the action to resolve naturally should circumvent any disastrous effects," Rodney argued, but was all smiles. "I mean come on, why not see what happens?"

"So we can crash into the ocean?" Zelenka shouted. "What kind of idea is that?"

It was a tennis match and John sat there, watching things like some bad movie. Why would McKay suggest they just sit back and watch what happened? And why were Ronon and Teyla staring at him, giving him little facial cues that didn't make sense. Zelenka was furious and Rodney couldn't comprehend why the little man was about to blow a gasket. Throughout the whole spectacle he could feel Woolsey's eyes on him from behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

Ronon was slouched in his chair, both annoyed and bored, yet he'd glance over everyone once in a while. Teyla was worse, trying to get involved, voice full of reason and calm. She'd take a moment to gauge John's reactions, studying him with those fierce eyes.

They were all studying him, waiting...waiting and watching. Was this some kind of test to see his reaction or analyze as to which side he'd take? Zelenka, the reasonable approach. Rodney's the reckless and unfounded. Were members of the SGC observing the crisis from the comfort of their reclining leather chairs?

No, his team wouldn't be in on such a thing. Never.

"The city has always been one step ahead of us in terms of anticipating problems. It was built with advanced automated systems designed to protect itself. Maybe we should listen to it?" McKay asked, boiling over in boyish enthusiasm.

The glint in Rodney's eyes should be daggers. The giddiness, filled with raging contempt.

John took a step back. He glanced down at the gateroom, through windows and barriers of glass. Though they tried to conceal it, those below were also watching. Hiding their actions in the daily gestures and activities of work.

"Colonel Sheppard, what do you think?"

Woolsey was waiting. Rodney beamed at him, expecting his full support. Radek pushed up his glasses expectantly. John's throat ran dry; the gateroom personnel started whispering, their voices drifting upwards with the flow of air. He could hear them despite how low they kept their voices.

"I think we should go with whatever carries the least risk to the city," John said, smiling. His answer was vague and up to interpretation.

"Well, then. I think that answers that," Rodney exclaimed, face gushing.

"I think the colonel is referring to my plan," Radek said, clearing his throat.

_They're lying. Can't you see? Can't you feel how wrong this is? How wrong it_ **feels.**

"I think we should..."

Woolsey's voice lost shape and form. There were other sounds, talking and arguing. John said things, used proper words when it was needed. Then people moved and shuffled and he found himself in the transporter alone, staring at a screen that displayed gibberish. He wasn't sure how long it took to figure out the control panel or where the others were. John didn't even know what they had decided, if anything.

All that was important was that he got away.

Away from the whispers and prying eyes.

_You should leave while you can._

John spun around to another empty hallway. He rubbed furiously at his head, the pain there a constant throb behind his eyes. He needed time to think, to sort things out.

The problem was, where could he go?

* * *

Teyla mentally went over her to-do list for the rest of the day. She needed to pick up the laundry, snag dinner, nurse Torren before his bedtime, and find the time to work out. There was no telling what order those things would happen in. She also had to run by Rodney's lab to discuss the progress on gathering the signatures needed for John's card. That was if Major Lorne would ever stop staring at it.

Lorne pinched the ends of the parchment tightly, brow furrowed in deep frustration. Teyla stepped closer, fearing the major might wrinkle the card unknowingly. Lana in the astrophysics lab had digitally drawn the cover of stars and candles upon the backdrop of Atlantis and the sea. The card was larger than normal to accommodate the many scribbles and well wishes.

"I...I'm not sure what to write."

Teyla exhaled a breath. Lorne had mulled over all the notes on the inside for almost twenty minutes. "Whatever comes to mind. I'm sure the colonel would appreciate that you signed it."

"I can't do that...I mean, I should say something," he said, gripping it harder.

"It doesn't have to be long. Perhaps what comes to your heart." At seeing Lorne's dubious reaction, Teyla amended her words. "What do most Earth cards say?'

"Most say, to many years to come, but I think that'd be kind of a jinx," Lorne said morosely, then he barked out a short laugh to cover up the odd remark. He studied it harder as if the words would magically appear while chewing on his bottom lip. "Maybe I should think about it. I mean, what if I write the wrong thing?"

Teyla looked at him puzzled. "_Wrong thing?"_

"This is Colonel Sheppard. Who knows how he might take it. What if I say something too personal...or what if it's not personal enough?" Lorne glared at the card shaking in his hands. "I'm his XO. I can't afford to screw that up." He shoved it into her hands roughly. "I'll radio you when I think of something appropriate."

Lorne hurriedly left, leaving the gift unsigned and Teyla's day reduced by a half an hour. She would have found the major's behavior a little off, but a few of John's men had debated over what to write as well. It baffled her. They demonstrated their respect for him on the battlefield, in their dedication to duty. She overheard their awe and admiration for the colonel all the time and witnessed their willingness to do anything for John during a crisis. Yet, it was surprising to see such awkwardness when confronted with a way to express that same affection in the form of a birthday greeting.

* * *

Teyla found Rodney in the back portion of his lab, the tiny room used often for storing projects or excess equipment. She stood there foolishly thinking he'd stop for a moment to greet her. Her clothes were probably sitting wet and wrinkled in the washer and undoubtedly Kanaan would be radioing her when Torren got hungry sooner rather than later. There weren't enough hours in the day to get all her tasks done _and_ wait around for him to recognize her presence.

"Rodney, I have collected most of the needed signatures for John's card. I'm going to put it on your desk so you can circulate it among any scientists who might want to sign it." Teyla waited to be acknowledged, a rare impatience overwhelming her normal veneer.

The scientist was huddled on the floor, a mess of circuit boards, wires, and other components a wreck around him. He had his tablet hooked up to a projection screen, oblivious to her words.

"Rodney."

"Rodney!"

His head snapped up. "What?"

Teyla counted to three in her head. "I have John's card."

"Oh, yeah. Okay," he replied, his eyes focused on the guts of the instruments before him.

Part of her, no, all of Teyla, wanted to leave, but she knew that the card would be forgotten. It was difficult not to step on the various items scattered across the tile as she navigated towards him. When she edged closer to what had his rapt attention, her jaw dropped. "You're playing a golf game?"

"Playing? Of course not," Rodney snorted.

The large LCD screen displayed a long stretch of thick grass with a white ball set up on something. What did John call it? A tee? The video was high quality, the fake green 'grass' real enough to touch. "These are golf contests from Earth?"

"No, this is real time computer generated imagery that I grabbed from the real Pebble Beach," Rodney gloated. "I used several satellites to download the data and I'm trying to factor every known condition from rain to wind that could affect the environment." Rodney shook his head and muttered under his breath. "I can't get the sand traps to behave properly; they don't impede the ball's trajectory right."

Teyla had watched John hit balls into the ocean from the piece of artificial turf he unrolled on one of the piers occasionally. "You're trying to create movies for the colonel to watch?"

Rodney jumped up so fast it startled her. He was in her face, eyes bouncing around wildly. "I'm making Sheppard a new game!" He grinned, puffing his cheeks out like a giddy kid. While his mood was running high, his state of dress was in disrepair.

"When was the last time you showered?" Teyla asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Who has time for such trivial things?" He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly. "I'm making the perfect golf simulator. Isn't that great?" Rodney pulled back, hands still on her shoulders, waiting excitedly for her response.

His hair stuck up in all directions and for the first time, Teyla noticed all the empty MREs and bottles of water strewn haphazardly all over the place. It occurred to her that she hadn't seen him since the meeting two days ago. "How long have you been working on this?"

"I don't know. A while," he said, shrugging. Rodney's eyes grew bright and, he smiled even more. "Have I shown you how it works?"

Teyla didn't have time to say no. All she wanted to do was deliver the card, but Rodney's behavior was beginning to worry her. Before she could ask him how he was feeling, a golf club was shoved into her hands. Rodney led her onto a rubber mat that she hadn't noticed on the floor.

"I started out updating the graphics of Sheppard's game. Then I realized how outdated it was and started a new computer program from scratch. I didn't know anything about the courses and I had to download all of them to my laptop. Then there were the physics to the game, the rules, all the tools needed."

"You've spent all this time reading about golf?" Teyla asked, still holding onto the club.

"I need to be an expert. How else am I going to create an accurate simulator?" Rodney impatiently took the club from her hands and bent at the knees. "You might want to move."

Teyla stepped aside, perplexed, and her worry increased. She watched as Rodney swung the club, almost knocking down a pile of junk nearby. The ball on the screen reacted, flying in a high arc and tumbling down on part of the course. Rodney hurried over to his tablet, clicking his tongue. "Accuracy is still off by five percent."

"Maybe you should give this a rest and---"

"No! You don't understand! It has to be perfect!" Rodney scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes and the frantic, desperate sounding voice was replaced by a more subdued one. "I'm sorry. I don't want there to be any mistakes."

This was deeply unsettling. "I think sleep might help, Rodney. Between getting the stardrive repaired and this, you must be exhausted."

A hand waved dismissively at her. "I'm sure Zelenka handled things just fine."

The unsettled feeling dug deeper in his stomach. "You do not know?"

"No, as you can tell, I've been busy."

The Rodney McKay she knew would never allow another person to repair a vital system on Atlantis, let alone not be updated on the matter. "You had nothing to do with how it was fixed?"

"Of course I did. I told Radek what I thought over the meeting. He still insisted that he was right and I was talking nonsense. I started working out the solution at my work station when I noticed that one of my underlings had left Sheppard's game on in the background." Rodney plopped himself down on the floor, setting his tablet in his lap. "I was going to erase it when I noticed how crappy it really was. I mean come on… it had X-Box old technology."

Teyla expected more of the story and was greeted by furious typing. "And the stardrive?"

"What? Oh, I told Radek if he was so sure of himself he could fix it." Rodney sat back, puzzled, squinting at the screen. He glanced up at her. "Guess he was right. Think I read an update about it last night, but I was trying to get the sensor motions to work on the simulator."

"You haven't slept in over two days?"

When Rodney peered up at her, his voice made her skin crawl. "I don't need sleep. Why would I?"

* * *

Kanaan had called twice with Torren crying in the background. He promised to take care of the laundry so Teyla wouldn't have to when she got back. The infirmary was around the corner and when she entered, chaos greeted her.

A throng of medical personnel was working franticly around a gurney. Teyla stood out of the way while the team of nurses pushed the bed towards the ER section of the room. The person had been obscured by bodies and equipment, and machines beeped and hummed from the closed off area.

"Ms. Emmagan, can I help you?"

Teyla turned to Nurse Harrison who had her hands full with a blood sample tray. "I was looking for Dr. Keller."

"She's in Exam Three and then I think she has to prep for surgery. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. I mean, I need to speak with her, but if she's too busy," Teyla hesitated.

Harrison grabbed a chart from another passing nurse, winking at the exhausted woman's expression. "Go take ten; I'll take care of Johnson's meds." She turned to Teyla. "I think you might be able to catch her for a second before she scrubs in."

"Do you know what happened when I walked in?" Teyla asked, peering at the sound of activity in the ER.

Harrison shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine. One of the zoologists thought it'd be fun to jump off the northern pier and take a swim." The nurse sighed. "Look, ma'am, I've got to run these, but I think I see Dr. Keller. Might want to grab her before she heads to the OR."

The tiny woman scurried off and Teyla followed the physician's bobbing ponytail. "Jennifer, I know you are busy, but do you have a second?"

"Um...not really." Jennifer tucked an errant hair away from her face and let out a slow exhale. "Sorry, crazy day. I just finished with the pins for Donaldson's arm. Some of the Marines took sparring a little too far this morning and broke it in two places and now I'm headed into the OR to try to save Lt. Minetti's leg."

"Was it an off-world mission?" Teyla asked concernedly. Minetti had escorted her a few times to New Athos.

"No, it was an explosion of some kind, here on Atlantis. I think it's being investigated but I have a second while he's being prepped."

Teyla wondered if she was getting ahead of herself, but strange things happened in Atlantis all the time. "I think there might be something going on with Dr. McKay."

Jennifer stopped moving, her face all business. "What makes you say that?"

"He has been acting stranger than normal," Teyla offered. She had to chuckle. Rodney's mood swings were an everyday occurrence, but no, this was something different. "I was wondering if you had noticed it as well?"

"It's hard to say. I mean, he's gotten very involved in that game for Colonel Sheppard." Jennifer cleared her throat. "And he's been... um... well... wildly suggestive of late about certain things." She shook her head. "Not that it matters. He's been so excited about the colonel's birthday that I think anything else is a split-second ping on his radar before it's about golf course designs. I admit I've been a little jealous, but Rodney exemplifies the phrase 'one-track-mind'."

She paused, obviously thinking. After Rodney's second childhood illness, any change in his temperament would cause them all to worry. "What have you noticed?" Jennifer asked, now clearly worried.

"He's been very happy of late," Teyla smiled ruefully. "I'd say he's even been _giddy._ But he acted very oddly today when I visited him. Moodier. I cannot explain it. I am worried he is not getting enough rest. He and John do not appear as if they have slept very much recently."

A nurse came towards them. "They're ready for you to scrub in."

"Tell them I'll be there in just a minute," Jennifer said, thanking her. She turned to Teyla. "I'd go talk to him tonight after my shift, but this surgery could take ten hours easily."

"I have to go feed Torren. If you want me to, I'll go check in on him when I'm done."

A nurse was nervously waiting in the hall. Jennifer seemed torn. "If you don't mind. I mean this could be just one of his crazy streaks and we are talking about the colonel's birthday, but if it's something else..."

"It will be no problem. I'll politely suggest dinner. And I'll see about grabbing John as well. I fear he worries about his trip to Earth," Teyla commented.

"Thank you, and you can let Lt Harrison know if it is something serious, she can reach me while I'm in surgery."

Jennifer left and Teyla realized it was finally time to return to her room. She had just forced her exhausted self out the exit when the corridor was plunged into darkness. The emergency lights flickered once before pitch black claimed the halls. She reached blindly for the wall to get a sense of direction while tapping her radio. "Colonel Sheppard, come in."

Silence greeted her and she switched channels. "Rodney, it's Teyla. Come in."

Nothing.

Her radio chirped before she tried Ronon. Woolsey's voice was on the other end. "_Teyla, please report to the control room. And if you know where Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard are, please bring them with you. They're not answering my pages."_

"What is going on?"

"_I don't know, but we're trying to find out. Power is out all over the city. Back-up generators are failing, but I've got enough to make an emergency announcement."_

"I am on my way," she replied.

The darkness crackled with Woolsey's voice telling everyone to stay where they were and to remain calm. She tried John and Rodney one more time but was met with static.

* * *

John unlocked the nineteenth case of cluster bombs, counting and comparing them to the inventory sheet. All correct. The P-90s were all accounted for; the same went for the G-36's, M60's, MP7's and M-16 rifles. The crates of C-4 were stacked against the wall; he'd counted them an hour ago, but a part of him thought about double checking just to be sure.

"Um...Colonel Sheppard?"

"I said I didn't want to be disturbed," John growled, whirling around.

He'd forgotten the supply sergeant's name; the large man with shorn blond hair stepped closer. "I wanted to know if you needed any help, sir. You've been in here for hours and my inventory PADD could help you track down anything."

"Computers can be inaccurate," John replied. _And manipulated._

The sergeant kept his body rigid while his eyes searched the armory, pausing at all the opened cases and disorganized shelves that had been neat earlier. "Did you and Major Lorne find something inaccurate that I should be made aware of, sir?"

"What does the major have to do with this?" John demanded.

"Didn't you have a meeting with him on Monday, sir? The monthly audit?"

His memory was fuzzy. Why couldn't he recall their results? John stared at the clipboard in his hand. All the numbers could easily be altered, making him run in circles for hours. Maybe it was a way to distract him.

_You'll never figure it out in time._

John whirled around, seeking out the voice from behind.

"Sir? Is there something wrong?"

His chest constricted. "No. You're dismissed." He waited a beat, the Marine's breathing heavy and loud in the room. "I said, dismissed!"

There was no mistaking the hasty retreat, or the door closing, leaving him alone. They wanted him to think there was something fishy going on, to observe his reactions. His head pounded and his heart tried to rip out of his chest. He pressed his fingers over his sternum, felt the muscle pulsate underneath.

_You're so gullible._

He balled up his left hand until it shook and the knuckles turned white. Outside he listened to the footsteps on the other side of the door. Back and forth. Back and forth. He crept up towards the exit, palm above the sensor, his other hand near his .45.

The doors slid open and he slipped out. The supply sergeant stood up nonchalantly from behind his desk a few feet away. Oh, he was good, with his whole 'everything's fine' expression. John lengthened his stride, putting space between him and the Marine. The halls were vacant; maybe that was on purpose, too.

He ducked down the nearest corridor, listening to the footsteps that followed. He held his breath, willing his heart to slow down and not give him away. The footfalls inched closer, echoing on the floor. He waited, weapon readied, the metal cold against his skin. The sounds echoed around the corner and when he spun around to meet them... there was nothing there.

_Pathetic. They'll find you, because they're smarter._

The vein in his temple throbbed in place. John staggered, grabbing his head, the pain flaring then slowly ebbing away.

The footsteps had caught up, forcing him to start running.

Where could he go?

He collided with a wall, his feet uncoordinated and his mind overcome with thoughts not his own.

"Colonel Sheppard, are you alright?" a woman asked, hurrying over.

John stumbled back. "Yeah... fine," he mumbled.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked.

_She hates you. Her best friend was killed on a mission you sent him on._

"I'm fine," he repeated, forcing the voice away despite the vice squeezing his brain.

Before the woman could get closer, he took off. And the footsteps followed. Dozens of them.

* * *

His quarters were a curse and a godsend. They represented familiarity, placing a barrier between him and those on the other side. But the walls sealed him in. He was trapped and John didn't do well being caged. He pressed an ear against the door, listening for signs of his pursuers, the hum of the city vibrating through the contact.

The footsteps fell silent and voices started coming from the walls. Where were you? they accused. Why didn't you help us?

He lurched backwards, the force of the noise physical. The whispers had fingers, poking into his ear and rattling his brain.

_How many had to die? Why us? Why not you?_

John pressed the heels of his hands into his temples, backing away.

And they multiplied, listing all those he'd failed. Each name driving spikes through his skull. He pressed his forehead to the door, scraping the metal boundary with his nails.

_Dex, Mitch, Holland, Abrams, Stevens, Thompson, Simpleton, Garcia, Walker, Lee, Gonzalez, Perez, Reed, Torres, Shelton, Ford, Hughes, Florence, Myers, Grant, Knight, Pierce, Olson, Dunn, Nakamura, Wheeler, Vasquez, Romero, Larson, Watts, Lowe, O'Brien, Weir, Soto, Dylan, Jacobs, Parks, Dawson, Hardy, Walsh, Hines, Cummings, Miller--_

"Stop," John pleaded.

_The Alep tribe. The Gunorion people._

He stumbled into his bathroom, closing that door as well.

_M2X-318, M2S-128, M2S-618..._

"I tried!" John screamed.

But he knew who was to blame for all the worlds the Replicators had wiped out. And those slaughtered by Michael. He couldn't hide from the truth anymore. What little progress Atlantis had made could never make up for the multitude of sins they had committed. That _he_ had committed.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. And he couldn't stand what he saw.

He could feel the taint beneath his touch, how he poisoned everything. He traced the outline of his face in the reflected surface, mapping out the image of so much destruction. Of so much death. There was something evil at his core, and it festered inside. Growing larger and larger.

The room burst into laughter and pain radiated through his skull.

And it wouldn't let up. It never would. He gripped the edge of his bathroom sink and slammed his forehead into the mirror. When it didn't stop the noise, he did it again. And again.

_There's only one way to stop this._

He stared at his fractured reflection; blood dripped down his face, making a mess on the tiny basin. The mirror showed his true self.

Then the lights went out; they fought to stay on, failed, and cast him alone in the darkness. All he felt was the raw pain of broken skin and he held on to it, to the warm stickiness flowing down his face.

"Colonel Sheppard, please report."

_Ignore him. _

"_Colonel Sheppard, this is Woolsey. Please respond."_

He turned off his radio.

John stood there, pressing his head into the cracks in the mirror, gritting his teeth against the fresh agony.


	2. Chapter 2

Rodney had sat without light for hours, or maybe days. It was hard to tell. Being alone in the dark had put things in perspective, all his failures, all of his faults. When the power had gone out, it was like a gigantic neon sign highlighting how truly out of his depth he really was. He hadn't bothered searching for the source of the problem. Why? It wasn't like he was capable of fixing it. Not that he cared.

Hiding made it easier, allowed him to disappear into the hole that he wished would swallow him up already. When the lights came back on, Rodney struggled to his feet, body numb from the cold floor, and palmed the sensor. He was engulfed by darkness again and slid his back against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top of them. It took too much effort to lift his head, all of his energy zapped by getting up earlier. Whenever that had been.

Rodney closed his eyes despite the lack of light, falling into himself, trying to find the moment it had all gone wrong. His thoughts were muddled, like they were stuck in mud. Thinking hurt his head; a growing pain dug trenches behind his eyes and around his sinuses. It didn't matter. He'd already forgotten what he was trying to remember.

Look at yourself, he thought. _See how truly inept and pointless you've become. What you've always been._ It was a miracle that he'd blundered his way this far in life before falling flat on his face. He laughed mirthlessly under his breath. Who was he kidding? Meredith Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, had been screwing up his entire life.

"Mom would be proud," he muttered. At the very mention of the word, his eyes filled with moisture and tears poured down his face. "Oh, God," he moaned, squeezing his eyes harder to stop the betrayal.

Never enough. Nothing was ever good enough for her. Rodney snorted and for good reason. All those years of trying to measure up and he'd never come even close. The only person who could feed his ego was himself. It was amazing how lying for over twenty years could actually make you believe the very bullshit everyone else did. His chest hitched and he wrapped his arms tighter around his BDUs, rocking back and forth. People died because of him. They even blew their brains out from the very gun he'd handed them.

"Rodney?"

He recognized Teyla's voice but couldn't bring himself to answer. A part of him said his team cared, that his team needed him, but that made it even worse. He couldn't even get Sheppard's game right for his birthday.

"Rodney?"

The lights came on and Teyla ran over, kneeling down. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The worry and concern were overwhelming, her eyes, the way she looked at him. He didn't deserve it. Rodney hiccupped; the tears streamed down cheeks flushed red from embarrassment. _You're crying, you idiot! Crying in front of Teyla._

"Don't..." Rodney swallowed a sob. "Don't tell anyone, please," he begged.

Teyla pulled him close, hands rubbing at the tension in his shoulders, speaking to him in a soft, calming voice. "I won't, but tell me, what is wrong?"

How could he? Rodney struggled for the words and found himself shaking even more.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk right now. But let's get off the floor. Can you do that?" Teyla asked.

Her words were kind, too kind, and they felt like knives. Rodney's face burned redder in shame and he allowed her to haul his ass up, legs rubbery and ready to collapse.

"Where...where are we going?" he asked.

"To see Jennifer," Teyla answered smoothly and held him tighter when he shook.

Yet, Jennifer wasn't here. That shouldn't be a surprise, and as if on cue, Teyla was supplying the excuse. "Dr. Keller was caught in a very long, difficult surgery. She's still operating and asked that I check up on you."

Check up on him. Because he was dumb. Weak and dumb and unable to walk without trembling. Sniffling like a baby.

What if people saw him like this? Rodney tried to veer away, but Teyla held on, guiding and steering. "I don't..." Couldn't he even talk? Quit babbling! "I don't want Ronon or..." Oh, God. Sheppard! "Don't let John see me like this," he pleaded, wiping at his face.

"No one will see you, Rodney. But it would be okay if they did," Teyla soothed as they entered the transporter.

"But he might. It's bad enough I screwed up, not that it matters," Rodney muttered. His friendship with Sheppard was based on pity. "I mean...he's never trusted me before."

"John's always trusted you, Rodney. He does not give his trust easily, but you must certainly know you have it completely," Teyla told him, her yes seeking his.

"I lost it... a few years ago, don't think I ever gained it back," Rodney whispered. Who was he kidding? No one trusted him.

"You and John have had your differences, but he trusts you with his life, Rodney."

"Then why won't he talk to me!" Rodney pushed her away, heart racing. "He never does! Friends talk... not us, and yeah, I know I don't communicate very well myself, and I hate emotional displays which is why I hate _this!_ Hate what I'm doing! But what's the point of saving someone that I know as much about five years later as I did when we first met?"

Teyla pushed him down the hall, getting him around corners. "That's not true. John is a very private man. We are his family and I think he has shared things with us that he would not with anyone else."

"Then why won't he even tell me what happened on the mainland with the AI?" Rodney glared at her, face puffy, the waterworks ready to begin again. Teyla didn't say anything; what was there to say? If he hadn't been duped by the fake Zelenka maybe none of it would have happened. Whatever _it_ was that messed up John.

They were in the infirmary and the place was more chaotic than his mind. Teyla was speaking, but he found it tough to pay attention.

People were screaming. Crying. Nurses and doctors were running around. He wanted to go back to his hole and never come back. He went from standing to sitting on an exam table. If only he could lie down and shut his eyes.

"What is happening?"

Rodney found himself curled on his side with Teyla talking to Ronon. He didn't know when Ronon had shown up and couldn't bring himself to care.

"A few Marines brought Lorne in. He broke his right hand punching a wall," Ronon said.

"What?" Teyla looked around. "Something is very wrong."

_She's talking about you, McStupid,_ Rodney thought.

"What about John? Have you found him?"

Ronon stiffened at Teyla's question. "He didn't answer his door. I pried it open after shouting at him that I was coming in. He wasn't there. I found blood in the bathroom and all over his stuff. His place was trashed."

Rodney bolted up. "What? Where is he?"

"Rodney, please stay calm. I'm sure the colonel is fine."

Teyla was lying to him. She didn't trust him. Who would? Rodney felt the onslaught start all over again. "What if he's not? What if..." Rodney took a shuddering breath. "Can't you see? This is wrong!" He waved his hand around. "What if...what if..."

And that was all he could do. Imagine Sheppard dead in the city somewhere. Dead and alone while Rodney sat around helpless as always. The despair felt like a heart attack.

"Hey!" Ronon had both hands on his shoulder. "We need you. Whatever's happening, fight it."

"I don't know how!" Rodney yelled back. A part of him wanted to...was trying. But then something squeezed his heart and he succumbed to its powerful grip, sagging in Ronon's arms and unable to stop himself from crying into the big man's chest.

* * *

He woke up slowly, rising from a deep fog. Rodney heard voices and the beeping of monitors and he so wanted to sleep, but he recalled needing to fight something.

"Rodney?"

Part of him – no, most of him – wanted to ignore the voice, curl back up and float away.

"Rodney, please wake up."

"Why?" His tongue felt heavy with a thick film. Why? Why care?

"We're in trouble, McKay. Wake up." That sounded like Radek.

Rodney forced his lids open to find a party around his bed. Jennifer and Teyla on one side with Zelenka and Woolsey on the other.

"I told you that I didn't want this many people in here," Jennifer warned.

"I'm afraid we don't have time to be that cautious," Woolsey responded. "Dr. McKay, can you understand me?"

"Rodney, I gave you some medication. It's going to make you sleepy, but I need to know if it's helping."

He looked over at Jennifer, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Leave me alone."

"Dr. McKay, Atlantis has been experiencing extreme malfunctions. Every time we repair a problem, another, more complicated one arises. In addition to the city's troubles, several people are being affected by some behavioral phenomena. We've ruled out viruses, disease, and anything spread by contact, but we need your help to determine the cause."

Woolsey talked too much. He'd never liked Rodney and now he wanted his help. There was nothing he could do. Couldn't they see that?

"Rodney," Zelenka said, stepping closer. "Atlantis initiated the stardrive. Then it tried to overload the ZPM, knocking out all the power generators at once."

Huh. That was the reason for the lights going out. Rodney felt a slight tingle, a sliver deep inside of interest. "Yeah?"

"Now, it's trying to divert power to the stargate in order to blow it up. I don't know how to explain it, but it is like the city...I mean." Zelenka sighed. "It is like the city is trying to destroy itself."

Rodney didn't want that to happen, but it was so hard to find the energy to do anything about it. He took the offered laptop, doubt causing his fingers to be slow, and pecked away at his ideas. "I...I can't find a connection to the malfunctions."

The mirror images of disappointment were enough to make him withdraw again, to keep from seeing how he felt inside etched into the faces of those around him. "What about...I mean- Something's...something's wrong with me." He felt marginally better, at the edge of the abyss instead of falling inside it. "What do you have me on?"

Jennifer stepped forward. "Ativan."

"Why?" he demanded.

"You were experiencing some type of severe emotional reaction. I thought anti-anxiety medication would help."

Rodney stared at Jennifer, his mind full of denial. Then he recalled crying all over Teyla and Ronon and the pressing urge to do it again. "You said there were people suffering from behavioral problems. Like what?"

"I've had several patients come in with erratic mood swings. Dr. Abraham thought he could fly from one of the towers. Four other people have signs of severe depression and one," Jennifer cleared her throat. "There's been one case of attempted suicide."

"Sheppard?" Rodney sat up.

"No," Teyla answered. "But he is missing. Ronon is looking for him, but we think there is something wrong with him as well. Yet, he has not been showing the same strange behavior as some of the others."

"Just trace his transmitter," Rodney growled.

"We can't," Woolsey piped in. "The city's life signs detector isn't working and it won't let us use the controls to track him, or anyone for that matter."

He shook his head, his world collapsing around him. If John died...if... No! It'd be Rodney's fault and everyone would blame him.

"Rodney?"

He couldn't listen to Teyla. How many times did he go to bed with the deaths of others haunting his nightmares? All that brilliance and he'd set the Replicators loose on human worlds. Allowed Elizabeth's brain to be overrun with nanites. Rodney could feel himself sinking into the void.

And while he fell down the pit of despair he kept thinking that Sheppard's golf game needed to be finished. The difficulty level on the tenth hole required tweaking.

"I need more," he found himself demanding.

"More what?"

He looked at Jennifer. "Give me more Ativan."

* * *

Rodney hated feeling like this, mind clouded over and slow, every thought double-guessed and doubt sucking all the energy out of him. But he tried to ignore it, his irrational fear about Sheppard a byproduct of whatever was the hell wrong with him, driving Rodney forward. Or he kept telling himself that it was irrational, but the more he looked at patient charts, the more scared he became.

The infirmary was getting crowded; the city shrink was on hand and being completely unhelpful.

"Hand me the newest charts," Rodney snapped at the doc.

Dr. Hartford stared at his PDA. "I'll tell you about the patient's symptoms, but I can't break patient confidentiality--"

"Screw that. People might die and the city could blow up. That trumps confidentiality." Rodney bristled. He felt that tingle again as if yelling and snapping felt right.

"Captain Espinoza tried to set his kitchen on fire."

Rodney couldn't place the name to a face. "He runs the mess hall, right?"

"Yes, he's in charge of the staff."

Think! Stop being so dense. He could fell the tug towards the edge, the nice quiet cliff. "What...I mean, why did he start the fire?"

"His oven and kitchen appliances told him to," Hartford replied. "I sedated him after he became violent again."

"And Lorne tried to punch out a wall," Rodney muttered. "Did you talk to the major?" When the shrink seemed hesitant to divulge that info, Rodney felt himself come undone. "I have you know when I'm myself I can run laps around your IQ! Right now, I'm mainlining Ativan and I know deep down inside you think you're wasting your time, but I'm the only one who can figure this out!"

"An inflated sense of accomplishment is a common--"

"Shut up! You don't know me very well, or you'd be kicking yourself," Rodney seethed. "Now what did Lorne say?"

"He said he couldn't control himself," Teyla said, walking in. "He told Dr. Bishop that the buzzing had become too much. We don't know what buzzing he was referring to. I tried to talk to him, but he was convinced that I was one of Michael's hybrids."

"What about Sheppard?" Rodney asked, rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. He's dead. _John needed you and you let him down._

"We have not been able to locate him, but Dr. Zelenka wanted you to know he used the program you installed the last time the gate was a target of an attack and he prevented an overload."

Until the next disaster. Rodney could read it in her eyes and he ducked Teyla's gaze. He stared at his laptop, at the various reports that didn't fit neatly into any pattern. He glared accusingly at his hands, the ones that should be doing something and not being fat and numb. Hands that wanted to dig a new hole under his bed to avoid the whole big wide world, but he knew John was out there. Running or being chased.

Who's chasing you, Sheppard?

Then it hit him, like the whole ton of bricks and all. He snapped those useless fingers. "Get Jennifer; get Woolsey...just...just call a meeting."

Teyla was there, gripping the metal rail to the bed. "What is it?"

"It's the gene," Rodney rattled. "I don't know what exactly, but all of us. We have the gene and we're being affected differently. Gene therapy carriers and natural carriers. And John," Rodney clawed the sheets. "He has that freakishly strong expression and...and... and it's bad. It's very, very bad!"

* * *

John's body pulsed, his veins pounded and his ears rang. He tossed his computer to the floor, flipped over his desk, and snapped the legs to his chairs. The sound of his refrigerator dying as it cracked open on the floor was strangely fulfilling. He bled profusely all over his stuff and the sight was surreal. He kept wiping the blood on his BDUs; soon there wasn't a patch of skin on his arms and hands that wasn't stained red.

Then there were no more things to break and any short-lived reprieve was shattered by the voices. They chased him into the hall. Running couldn't combat the wall of sound pressing in on all sides. The voices mocked him, chiding him for trying to escape.

Through the bowels of the city he ran, going deeper into sections that were unexplored and away from those searching for him. The whole being pursued thing was nothing new - sandy dunes, clear blue skies, forests, swamps, snow, and underground tunnels. Someone or something was always trying to kill him.

Maybe that was the universe's way of giving him a hint.

_Is that how you see yourself? As a martyr? _

"No," he growled out loud.

He wasn't a hero, far from it.

_No, you're the sacrificial lamb._

"It's not like that!" John spat.

He did what he had to. It was his job. But he'd been a failure and he could practically feel all the blood on his hands. He stared down at his palms, where he'd dug his nails into them, the gashes slick and hot. John gazed into the hall and it was like staring into a giant black void. He was alone and it was a familiar feeling. That's how he'd always be.

Atlantis had been an escape, just somewhere to run. An arctic wasteland hadn't been enough. Did he really think a new galaxy would change his destiny? How much further could he go?

_You distance yourself far away from others, even from your supposed friends so it won't matter when you leave them, or get them killed. That's what you do. _

John shook his head in denial.

The walls screamed all around him with full fledged shrieks of despair. Wailing and screeching. Millions of voices cried out, their pleas physical fists that slammed him in the jaw, across the cheek, over his skull.

_Help us! Stop them! Stop them, John! _

He couldn't think straight; the voices filled his ears, his head. They blocked out all sight and sound. Plugging his ears with his fingers didn't help; all it did was make them scream louder.

"Enough," he whispered.

They wouldn't let up, and it was the sobbing and crying that got to him. "Sssssshhhh," he told whomever would listen.

At one point he was on his hands and knees, crawling away with nowhere to go. Lost, he was lost and confused, rolling into a ball. He tried to block it all out, digging his fingers into his temples so hard he swore they'd break through his skull.

"Stop!" John yelled back. "Stop!" He pounded his hand on the floor, his balled fist smashing the hard surface. He must have been doing that for a while because his fingers throbbed and it was a distraction from the madness trying to drown him.

John staggered to his feet, blood and adrenaline rushing through his limbs down to his toes. He could feel the build up of energy, the rush of voices carrying him along. Their collective weight was impossible to resist. It broke down all his walls, his defenses.

_Make it stop! You can stop it all. Set us free!_

Free us, John. Free yourself.

He patted down his BDUs, his belt, appalled at coming up empty. His feet moved, knowing exactly where to go. Unable to fight the pull or the push. The moment he resisted, his mind imploded with an entire city full of voices.

There was need for dramatics.

New footsteps clacked in the hall, tons of them.

_Don't get caught, John. Go! Go now!_

Ronon kept track of every level searched in his head, mentally crossing out sections of the city and moving onward. They only had two small search teams. Ronon went on his own so the Marines could cover east and west. With the numerous problems with the city, Woolsey couldn't spare more men when there could be a saboteur on the loose. Or worse, an alien threat. Things deteriorated as more people started acting crazy.

It'd been easy to follow the trail of blood left behind, drops here, a streak there. Sheppard wasn't stupid; it was too easy to follow him, which worried Ronon. It meant that John wasn't thinking straight, too wrapped up with whatever was wrong with him to notice such things. Then there was no more blood and he'd been forced to radio the squad following him to begin another search pattern.

"_Ronon, come in_," Teyla radioed.

"Here." He hated giving away his location.

"_Rodney thinks that John might be suffering from some type of psychotic episode."_

"What?" Ronon could hear McKay ranting in the background about 'going nuts'.

Teyla calmed him down before speaking to him again. "_We don't know the cause but Jennifer, Dr Hartford, and Rodney theorize that people with the gene therapy are experiencing symptoms similar to depression and other emotional disorders. However those with the natural gene seem to be more delusional, even violent."_

Ronon didn't understand half of what she was saying. "I can handle Sheppard."

"_He might not recognize you or where he is. He could be frightened or even a danger to himself,_" Teyla warned.

"I'll find him," Ronon said, clicking the radio off.

He'd done this before. A few times. Ronon knew Sheppard, understood how his mind worked, though if it was all messed up, it could prove a problem. Two hours had gone by since he'd found Sheppard's quarters destroyed and this wasn't like previous cat and mouse games.

Or was it? If Sheppard wasn't right in the head then he'd rely on instinct more. Search out a place that represented safety or familiarity. Ronon dismissed various areas that were close to people or out in the open.

Then it clicked and he ran toward the jumper bay.

* * *

The closest squad of Marines was near one of the more isolated piers. Ronon informed Woolsey where he was going and his gut was rewarded when the guard patrolling the bay didn't answer his radio.

"_I just found out that Sergeant Nimns is one of the gene carriers. It might explain why he's not responding," Woolsey explained. "Your backup is ten minutes away using the transporters. I advise you wait until..."_

"I'm here," Ronon spoke. "Switching to radio silence," he said, cutting off any response.

He saw John walking toward the rear of his favorite jumper. Ronon reached for his blaster, knowing it was set on stun, and aimed. He had his sights on John's moving back when the man stumbled, grabbing his head. Ronon's shot went wide. John whirled to see who was behind him, hands flailing at the control panel to release the hatch.

Ronon fired, cursing when John anticipated the bursts and dived behind the side of the jumper for cover. Ronon growled, sprinting after him, glad that he'd at least kept Sheppard from stealing the ship. Now it was a race to keep him from trying it again with a different jumper. Calling after Sheppard was pointless and would give away his position.

John scrambled around the next ship, heavy footsteps and rapid breathing giving him away. Ronon caught a blur of black uniform duck around the port side and, as he rounded it, was caught off guard when John tackled him.

A set of shoulders plowed into Ronon's midsection and it was so unexpected that the two of them toppled to the ground. John was frenetic and desperate, wildly clawing for Ronon's blaster and by sheer luck, planted a knee painfully into Ronon's diaphragm. Ronon grappled Sheppard with one hand and in the mad struggle of grunts and thrashing limbs, lost his grip on his weapon with the other.

It was all about the gun. Sheppard made a run for it and Ronon kicked his left leg out from under him. John pitched forward onto his hands and knees, but that didn't stop the mad clamber towards the blaster. Ronon was faster, grabbing John by the shoulders and securing a chokehold around his combative friend.

John screamed, bucking uncontrollably. Adrenaline made him uncoordinated but scarily stronger. He threw all his weight back, slamming Ronon into the bulkhead of the nearest jumper. Ronon's spine collided into a sharp edge and in that split-second of mind-numbing pain, John grabbed at Ronon's belt and pulled out one of his knives.

"Sheppard," Ronon warned. "What are you doing?"

John looked like he'd crawled out of a warzone. Dried blood was crusted over several cuts across his forehead, black smudges under his eyes contrasted his chalk-white complexion, and his uniform was filthy. His shirt wasn't tucked in, and he wasn't wearing a belt which meant he wasn't armed except for the knife.

Sheppard gripped the blade in his left hand, his right knuckles and fingers swollen and scraped raw. Ronon could beat John in a knife fight, even in his current unpredictable state, no problem. He just didn't want to hurt him if he could avoid it.

John still hadn't said a word, eyes twitchy, darting around the bay. Ronon could do this; he had before. Talk calm and slow. Before the Marines arrived. "Sheppard. John," Ronon amended. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"Shut up!" John growled, breathing heavily through his mouth. He was strung tighter than a bow, fine muscle tremors going through his arms and hands.

"If you need to go somewhere, I'll go with you. Name the place," Ronon offered.

The pulse point in John's throat fluttered visibly, like his heart was going to explode any minute. He shook his head, curling his broken right hand into a ball by his side. "You can't."

Ronon inched closer and thought better of it when John's eyes went dark and flat. John's smile was crooked and weirdly unsettlingly, his voice calm. "You're not the real one. They told me."

Ronon saw the instant John's body coiled tightly, and he waited for the attack, ready to counter it.

"This is the one thing I can do right," John muttered.

Ronon wasn't ready or prepared when the knife went downward, not out, tearing across John's skin and not his. By the time Ronon's fingers curled around the wound in John's arm, they were slick with so much blood that it was hard to see the damage.

The blade clattered to the floor. Ronon kicked it away, catching John as he sunk to his knees in a daze. "Tell everyone… I'm sorry," he whispered.

Ronon supported him, resting John's body against his chest, pulling out a field dressing and pressing it into the gash that ran under his friend's bicep to his elbow. Crimson gushed like a fountain, every heart beat pumping it out faster.

"Damn it!" Ronon held John close, neatly ripping out another dressing and wrapping it tightly the best he could one-handed around the other soaked-through gauze.

They had minutes. Three, five. He wasn't sure. John's skin was cold and growing colder, his long limbs floppy dead weights. Ronon scooped him up, tapping his comm by the grace of the Ancestors and ran full-tilt toward the transporter.

"I've got Sheppard! He's got a bad arm wound and is bleeding out!" He took a heavy breath. "Heading towards the infirmary!"

Ronon's entire body shook. From fear to rage, furious that he hadn't guessed what John was up to. It never occurred to him that John would hurt himself although the clues were all there. He kept pressure on the gash in Sheppard's arm, hoping to stem the blood loss by sheer will.

John mumbled incoherently, jerking in his arms once or twice before sagging like a dead weight. "Sheppard! Don't you give up!"

The transporter doors swooshed open to a waiting medical team, but Ronon wouldn't give John up to them. He was faster than a wheeling gurney, depositing his burden onto a bed and stepping back as doctors and nurses swarmed.

"Ronon?" Teyla was in front of him, steering him away from the chaos. "Sit down," she ordered.

Jennifer was in front of him now. Asking stupid questions.

"I'm not hurt," he snapped. Ronon glared at Jennifer. "Why aren't you helping Sheppard?"

"Because I spent over twelve hours in surgery and I can't afford to make a mistake. Dr. Pertalli is a trauma surgeon. John's in good hands, I promise."

Ronon barely heard her words and simply stared at his hands, the blood still warm and tacky over his fingers.

"We will help you get cleaned up," Teyla said;she made clear it was not a request.

* * *

Ronon sat in the chair by Rodney's bed. His teammate drifted in and out, heavy meds flowing through his veins. This hour Rodney was awake and agitated, ranting and raving one moment and getting all teary-eyed the other. The random mood swings bothered McKay as much as they did Ronon, but he didn't let it show. Much.

"This is ridiculous! Bipolar disorder doesn't exhibit symptoms like this! It should take days or weeks for me to go through phases," Rodney spat. "I'm sick of feeling like a damn yo-yo!"

"I said what you're experiencing is similar to bipolar disorder, but obviously that is not what you're suffering from," Jennifer explained. "The dopamine and reelin levels in your brain keep shifting; give the treatment time to adjust them back to normal amounts."

Rodney fiddled with the IV leading to his vein. "You're talking about my brain chemistry! I don't like the idea of pumping me full of drugs to screw with the balance even more."

"If I didn't 'screw' with them, it could take weeks for them to return to normal." Jennifer pulled up a chart and made notations in them in the opposite chair.

"So, this whole thing was because of some piece of Wraith tech?" Ronon grunted. He hated waiting.

Rodney's face burned bright red, his heart monitor increasing. "Yes! I'm booting Dr. Kimball back to Earth! I can't believe he allowed some kid to transfer alien tech without protocols! We were cataloging Janus' lab! The last time one of his fun gadgets was activated we got robbed and Jackson and I got kidnapped by the evil Asgard!"

Ronon was waiting for the crying to start, but McKay settled down, crossing his arms. He must have missed the part when they talked about what caused this whole thing. There was an hour here and there when Ronon tuned out the whole world, too busy thinking about the glint of a blade and rivers of blood. He didn't second-guess his choices very often, but there were always exceptions.

Teyla had been oddly silent, keeping vigil by McKay and waiting for word on Sheppard. She'd been sullen and still. Rodney must have noticed it, too. "This isn't your fault. I didn't recognize the remote as any kind of Wraith tech. I, for one, should have noticed it. Plus, who knew it'd be so sensitive to your DNA?"

"I activated a device that caused much damage. It is not an easy thing to accept," Teyla stated flatly.

"It was a damn remote control! The device was elsewhere in the city. It was a miracle that we even put two and two together after Radek did a random sweep for erratic energy patterns." Rodney balled up his hands. "I'm to blame. I was too...too--"

"You were affected by a very old experiment, one that the Ancients shouldn't have even been messing with," Jennifer added. "Janus' lab was secret for a reason. I'm sure having Wraith tech on Atlantis wasn't authorized," she snorted.

"But why?" Teyla asked. "What was it supposed to do?"

"Make us nuts," Rodney grunted, fiddling with his sheets. "The device obviously sends out some type of energy field meant to affect the Ancients mentally. Causing widespread emotional instability would make for an easy target. Especially if said targets were crippled by the type of self destructive behavior the device was intended for. Hell, even the city was affected, though I'm not sure if Atlantis was the main target or a strange byproduct."

"And Sheppard?" Ronon growled. "What was wrong with him?"

"Many of the natural gene carriers suffered from various degrees of delusions. The stronger carriers manifested symptoms close to a disease we call schizophrenia. Hallucinations, hearing voices, or voices that command you to do things. But we're not talking about clear-cut signs," Jennifer tried to explain. "The best we can come up with was that the Wraith device was an experiment in self destructive behavior. Causing its victims to experience everything from suicidal thoughts to paranoid delusions."

"Except none of us are real Ancients so the effects varied by the strength of our gene," Rodney gruffed. "I'm just glad we found the device. Who knew that Janus had another room full of goodies. A freaking storage area, well storage closet perhaps. If it wasn't tracing the frequency, we'd might not have ever found it."

"And we are sure it is off?" Teyla asked.

"Yes. The Marines fried it when they shot it into tiny pieces," Rodney huffed. "Good riddance."

The whole thing gave Ronon a headache. Whatever did this, whatever the reason, John would never forget slicing open his own arm, no matter the alien influence. You couldn't forget such a thing.

* * *

Ronon stood at the edge of John's bed just watching him. He knew it was a Wraith experiment that had caused all their problems, like the time when it had affected them all on that planet. He knew damn well how real things could seem, how tangled your mind could get inside. There was no telling what the device had done to Sheppard, what evil it had released deep inside. But it had been Ronon's knife that almost killed him. A knife forged in steel and honor, blessed in ceremonies to take the life of his enemies. Not his friends!

He'd been warned to be careful, but he hadn't been. It had never occurred to him what Sheppard would try to do. Not once. Ronon would have hated himself forever despite what others insisted to the contrary. It was his job to anticipate the unpredictable and to protect his teammates.

Sheppard stirred in his sleep, fighting his nightmares. Ronon grabbed a chair and stayed by him, ready to drag Sheppard out of whatever personal Hell he was trapped in. He pulled up the blankets every time they were tossed aside from Sheppard's battles.

Lieutenant Harrison hovered nearby, stepping up to the bed with another IV bag. She plucked a thermometer from her pocket and pressed it into the pilot's ear, laying the back of her hand against his cheek. "I'm giving you some warm saline, Colonel, to help bring your temp back up. So, let's stop messin' with your blankets and keep them on, sir."

The nurse checked the heavy bandage that encased Sheppard's arm in armor, setting it back on the pillow it was resting on before turning her sights on Ronon. "Dr. Pertalli spent six hours repairing the colonel's arm. Any sudden movements could undo all that hard work. Vascular surgery is very delicate."

Ronon puffed out his chest and glared. "No."

"Dr. Hartford, also insisted. Gene therapy patients are being carefully monitored on medication, ,but he's worried about the natural carriers with strong ATA expressions. They could still experience heavy emotional episodes or confusion for several days. It's only for the colonel's protection."

"If they want to put restraints on, Sheppard. they'll have to come through me," Ronon growled.

"And us," Rodney said, entering the cubicle with Teyla.

Harrison simply shook her head. "Figured as much. Most have slipped my mind about bringin' them," she said, winking as she left.

Ronon got up and offered his chair to Rodney.

"What? I'm not crippled," McKay said, pretending to be miffed, but taking it to sit down. He looked at Sheppard and swallowed. "God, he looks so...."

"He's going to be fine," Ronon said. Then he strategically stood between Sheppard's bed and where Rodney sat and affectionately patted McKay on the shoulder. "We're all here to make sure of it."

* * *

He was supposed to fly, to take to the sky and flee. John saw himself at the controls, accelerating to ten Gs, aiming the jumper at one of the empty towers on the edge of the city. It would all end in a fireball, his body disintegrating upon impact, a second of blinding pain then nothing. What he didn't expect was flashbacks to "Carrie", plastered from head to-toe in buckets of blood. He stared at his arm, could see the white of bone and all his veins ripped open, and in his hand, a butcher's knife for slaughtering animals.

John started to gag, the sight of all his life's fluid splattered all over his skin and clothes too shocking. The choking became coughing; his eyes sprang open and pain dug its teeth into his arm.

_You failed again._

"Sheppard?"

His breath hitched, the room spun dizzyingly, and it took all his energy to keep from losing the contents of his stomach.

"John?"

The voice was familiar, but his eyes were already closed, and John knew he had to fight against the sounds of others. It was freezing, his skin icy under the sheets and covers. He'd been cold, cold and numb. He wanted to sleep and not drift back to the surface for while, if ever. The darkness was inviting, the silence heaven compared to the millions of voices that had ripped open his mind, leaving him bare and exposed to the pain of hatred and despair.

"He's shivering. Get another blanket. Make it two!"

Something warm was draped over his body, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety, away from the ugliness in his head. John held onto the warmth and allowed himself to sink under it.

* * *

There were bouts of awareness between his dreams, though it was hard to distinguish between the two. Sometimes he was dead; other times he was alive but the dead were crushing him beneath the weight of their bodies. The screaming and shrieking had stopped, interrupted by the occasional sob in the distant background.

John woke up to white curtains and three empty chairs. His mind felt bruised and fragile, his body numb. His right arm was wrapped up from his shoulder to halfway up his wrist in thick layers of gauze. When he wiggled his purple fingers, they didn't feel like they belonged to his hand. He had zero energy or motivation to move, and fell back asleep after only a few minutes of lucidness.

The next time he joined the land of the living, Ronon was there and scooted his chair closer.

"Ronon," he rasped. "What I did...I mean what I tried to do." _In front of him, damn it!_ "I'm..." Then another shudder wracked his body, sending tiny vibrations through his flayed open arm. Damn, that hurt.

Ronon rested a hand on his shoulder. "You've chased your demons away, but I'll always be here to fight them with you." The big hand lingered for several seconds then pulled the mound of blankets up to John's chin and tucked the rest in. Ronon also grabbed a large hand-knitted afghan and gently laid it over the others. John hadn't realized how freezing he was until a sense of tranquility replaced the harshness of a bone-deep chill.

"You don't have to stay," he said drowsily. _They could still be lurking around._

"I'm not going anywhere."

John felt relief at the words, still not trusting himself. He trusted Ronon though, and knew the voices wouldn't dare return with him around.

* * *

"Your brachial artery was injured. The cut was four centimeters deep and the wound six inches long. The muscle and tendons were damaged and you'll need weeks of physical therapy." Jennifer waited for the information to sink in. When John nodded, she quietly went on. "You have loss of nerve function, but I think you'll retain about ninety to ninety-three percent of it in your hand. It won't be enough to impede your flight status."

Her words floated in and out of his head, his attention hard to focus. She grabbed his wrist, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his fluttering pulse, waiting to see if he heard her. "Your thoughts are going to continue to feel a little disjointed. It's from the pain medication and the effect of the Wraith device. But we're treating you with Zeldox until your scans come back normal."

He blinked, snippets about what was wrong with him a jumble with images he'd rather forget.

"It's okay if you still feel jumpy. When your dopamine levels right themselves, and the hippocampus in your brain goes back to normal size, the paranoia should diminish. And let one of us know if you... well, if you hear anything unusual," Jennifer said, giving his arm a light pat.

"I'm," John licked dry lips, "so tired."

"You lost a lot of blood volume. Give it time, Colonel. And your body temperature should return to normal soon. Just let a nurse know if you're not warm enough."

Then Jennifer was gone. Teyla replaced her seconds later, taking his good hand in hers. "It is good to see you feeling better, John."

There was hesitancy in her voice, like it was difficult to formulate words. Part of him wondered if some other terrible thing had happened while he'd been haunted by ghosts and demons. He started accepting the blame before knowing what it was for.

Teyla ran her fingers over the fine wool of the Athosian blanket, her nails catching on the frayed ends. "I am so sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to activate the device."

Her guilt was like salt on an open wound. He kept waiting for white noise to burrow inside his skull, for voices like daggers to strike him down. "It wasn't your fault." John's throat was rough as sandpaper. He moistened his lips, struggling to find coherency that wasn't there. "Look how many times I've touched the wrong thing."

Again he waited for the walls to whisper Heightmeyer's name, but there were just the soft beeps of equipment.

"Deep down inside I know it to be true. My gift has helped us in the past, but to bear witness to its destructive side…" Teyla shook her head.

"Wasn't you," John rasped. "You didn't create the device. You didn't even know it was there."

Teyla's expression became less pinched, softening like the touch of her fingers over his arm. "And you need to offer yourself forgiveness as easily as you bestow it." She gazed solemnly at his arm, the violence inflicted upon himself hidden away. "We're always here for you, John. Many of us would not be if not for your actions and leadership."

"I--"

Teyla shushed him, squeezing his other arm. "You need your rest, so I will tell you a story of a revered tribal elder who carried the same type of burden on his shoulders as you do. Until the enormity of it all broke his back and he was forced to accept the help of those around him. Only then did he become strong enough to defeat his enemies. His name was Taliman and he..."

Teyla's soothing voice was another layer of comfort, her soft cadence lulling his mind out of the darkness. He'd fought his demons to a standstill, alone, several weeks ago, but maybe it was time to accept some help every once in a while. For the first time in days, John felt like he could fall asleep in peace.

* * *

"So, how are you feeling?" John hated such questions. Did anyone ever want to tell the truth or even hear it? He was actually sincere and, for the first time in days, was levelheaded enough not to allow the response to influence his own mood.

"I don't plan on dancing a jig whenever I hear Zelenka's insane music," Rodney snorted. "Now eat my dust!"

"You felt like dancing? Really?" John frowned at the tiny view-screen in his hands. "Of course, I don't have all the dexterity in my right hand, you know," he said, pouting.

"I say it's fair," Rodney whooped. "Yeah, there were moments when I felt like I could do anything. Well, even more than the everyday miracles I perform."

John's bad arm rested against a stack of pillows, his wrist movement pulling on healing muscle. His physical therapist had approved playing the DS as long as they limited the game to half an hour a day.

"You were a bit chipper," John said, hiding a grin.

"Yeah, you missed my impersonation of Eeyore on Valium." Rodney laughed under his breath, but it was forced and awkward.

John recalled slamming his head into a mirror and relishing in the pain. "At least you weren't having conversations with the walls," he admitted. _And really listening to them._

"With you, I wouldn't have noticed."

Both their eyes were glued to the racing game; it was the perfect way to avoid eye contact. John rolled his animated car over a power-up and zoomed around the next lap, slamming Rodney's vehicle into a corner.

"You're always cheating!" Rodney yelled, earning a glare from a passing nurse. He settled down in the chair next to John's bed, gripping the game system so tightly his fingers were white. "So...."

"I'm not going to tell you what happened," John cut him off. "I don't recall much anyways." He felt the heat emanate from the laceration, the blood pump under the mending skin. He swallowed, clenching his jaw. "It's just...with what happened with the AI on the mainland a few weeks ago. It's just too close together. Too many things screwing with my head."

"I can see that."

John tried not to look over, but he saw the downward slant of shoulders, and the less than enthusiastic way Rodney pursued his car in the game. "You know, I get out of here in a few days. Was thinking of having a few beers--" At Rodney's grunt he amended his words, "well, a beer on the west pier. Thought maybe... well... I never did tell you what happened. Unofficially." He stared at his left hand, knowing he'd leave certain things out. A lot out, but sharing a little was a start.

"Oh. I mean. Sure." Rodney almost rocketed out of his seat. "Where did you find that shortcut?" He was cursing at John, but there was something less guarded about him, almost relaxed.

"I see you two are enjoying yourselves," Teyla said, pushing aside the curtain.

Ronon stepped beside her, some colorful pieces of paper clasped between his fingers. Teyla nodded at him and came over to John's bed and dropped three large envelopes onto the tiny table. "Happy Birthday."

John was at a loss for words. He brushed his left hand over the envelopes, all three of them with drawings or bright stickers on the fronts. "I forgot, actually."

Ronon shrugged. "You've been stuck in here the past week."

"There was not enough room for the thoughts and well wishes on a single card so we had to find three," Teyla explained.

"And they had a lot to say. That's why I just signed it," Ronon said, clearing his throat. "But I'm going to take you on a traditional Satedan camping trip when you're ready. It'll be fun."

"Oh," Rodney snapped his fingers. "Woolsey wanted you to know he found some missing mission report. Something about it being filed in the wrong place and a wacky e-mail folder snafu. Apparently he found some missing supply report attachments the other day."

"Really?" John couldn't believe his ears.

"Also, there's no need for you to go to Earth. The review board used the recommendations of several of your men, along with Woolsey, Carter, O'Neill, and a few other pointless military jarheads that I forgot, to sign off on you staying on for another tour or whatever you call it," Rodney said smugly. "I was going to give you something else really cool, but…ya know," he sneaked a look at Teyla. "Thought this news was better."

"Maybe I should got nutty a little more often," John laughed, but he was blissfully relieved on the inside.

"And I want you to keep this blanket," Teyla said, fluffing the knitted cover over his lap. "It belonged to my grandmother and to her grandmother. Each time it is handed down, we add our own design to it."

John couldn't look at them, too overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings that constricted his chest. Unlike the cold and heartless emotions from many days ago, these made his cheeks and tips of his ears flush pink. He rubbed the edge of the envelopes as if they were too fragile to open. "I...thank you."

His team stepped closer. Ronon rustled the top of his head. Teyla pressed a kiss to his cheek and Rodney...well Rodney grinned a genuine smile. "So, are you up for cake?"

"Sure. Why not?" John watched the three of them arrange the area near his bed, praying that there would be no singing. And he gathered the cards to his chest one-handed, feeling his heart beat through his fingertips.

fini

* * *

Your prompt is as follows: Gen, a Shep/Atlantis story - either something  
happens in the city affecting all the ATA carriers or Shep brings something  
back that affects the city/ATA carriers. Shep of course gets the brunt of it.  
Bonus points if it affects the natural carriers differently from the gene  
therapy recipients. Dark fic ok, death fic not ok.

**took a big risk with this one.** gulp...hope it worked.


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